


A Druid's Onus

by AmarahOsiris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Mentioned - Freeform, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean is a Good Friend, Dean wants Sam to be happy, F/M, Fluff, I did research to make sure this was canon compliant, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sam can be nervous around women, Unnamed characters - Freeform, based loosely off Irish and British mythology, don't get your panties in a twist, female british reader, jack mary and lucifer mentioned, like one OMC mentioned, magic maybe, please let me know if I screwed up, series occurs during season 13, use of the bunker's dungeon, witchcraft?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarahOsiris/pseuds/AmarahOsiris
Summary: Another town, another hunt, another chance for the Winchester brothers, specifically Sam, to save a life. Sam needs this win more than anything. To his surprise, he gets it. In the form of Y/N. But is she keeping a secret that could put the brothers, and the entire world, in danger?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, Dale (OMC)
> 
> WARNING: ANGST, BROTHER BANTER, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, MOTW CANON VIOLENCE
> 
> Chapter Summary: Sam finds him and Dean a hunt in a small rural town in Delaware. That case will inadvertently change their lives forever.

 

* * *

 

Sitting in the bunker’s war room, Sam Winchester spent his morning drinking coffee, nibbling on some buttered toast, and looking for his and his brother, Dean’s, next hunting case.

This was how Sam spent his mornings nowadays. The weather had been dreary and cold since spring hadn’t yet reared its beautiful head in Kansas yet. But even if it had, he just wasn’t up for going on runs anymore. This dark and brooding depression he’d acquired some time ago wouldn’t release its hold on his heart. Try all he might, nothing cheered him up. So he did the next best thing: his job.

“Morning grumpy,” Dean chided as he walked in with a cup of coffee and toast for himself. “You know, we really oughta’ go grocery shopping soon. We’re getting low on…well, everything. We’ve resulted to eating the poor man’s breakfast.”

Sam merely nodded in response without looking up from his laptop. Dean sighed.

“Dude, enough.”

“What?” Sam replied, taking another small bite of his toast. His depression had also affected his usually big appetite. Something that didn’t go unnoticed from his big brother.

“Look, I know shit’s been bad lately, with Mom, and Lucifer, and Jack still missing, but you gotta keep your head up. Being distracted will only get you killed, and I can’t have that.”

“Right, because you’re all sunshine and rainbows yourself,” Sam hissed.

Dean just sighed again and took a large gulp of his coffee, deciding having this conversation with Sam early in the morning probably wasn’t a good idea. “You got anything or what?”

“Maybe,” Sam replied, sliding the laptop over towards Dean. “People in Delaware have gone missing over the last few weeks. Cops thought they were just drifters passing through until they put together a pattern. Young women with long Y/H/C hair.”

“Oh man, talk about a pun-filled coincidence,” Dean snorted, noticing the town in question was ‘Slaughter Beach, Delaware.’

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam replied, taking another sip of his coffee, “most of the women that have gone missing have turned up on the beach with their hearts missing.”

“Classic werewolf.”

“Classic werewolf,” Sam repeated after Dean. “So, when do you wanna leave?”

“Wait, you wanna go now?”

“Why not?” Sam stood up and finished off the last dregs of his coffee.

“Don’t you think you’re going a little fast there, Sammy?”

“Oh, like you’ve never been itching for a hunt after the whole fucking world falls apart,” Sam mused, walking towards the kitchen.

“Not saying I haven’t, just that-”

“What?”

“That’s normally the behavior expected outta’ me, not you.” Dean was now facing Sam, who was standing in front of the sink, his dishes already deposited for later washing.

“When has  _anything_  in our lives been normal, Dean? I swear to God, that should be a damn cuss word here.”

Dean shrugged. Sam sighed, and went on. “Look…I just…want a  _win_  for once. Is that too much to ask? This appears to be a simple, classic werewolf case and you and I have taken out plenty of their kind before. There haven’t been any new vics since the last one, and usually they stock up on several before their hunting cycle breaks off. It’ll take us a few days to get there, and by then the moon will be full and it should leave its lair and we can catch it.”

Dean took in his little brother’s words with caution. He knew Sam was so much like him when it came to “needing a win” and the best way for them to win was doing simple hunts. Milk runs, he called them. But he also worried about his brother’s mental state. Sam tended to beat himself up more than he should when shit hit the fan. Especially now since everything that had happened wasn’t his fault. But he understood where his brother stood.

“I can be ready to go, car packed, in 20 minutes,” Dean said.

* * *

According to the Sam’s GPS, driving from the bunker’s secret location in Lebanon to the less-than-300-people town of Slaughter Beach, Delaware (it was ironically funnier every time Sam thought about it) should’ve only taken them about twenty-ish hours, but with Dean behind the wheel (and Sam being refused an opportunity to drive) they were there in about sixteen hours. Sam was thankful Dean usually stuck to back roads and country highways otherwise they’d both be in jail for speeding.

They booked a motel room for a few days, dressed in their faux-FBI suits, and started working the case. After interviewing victims’ families and local law enforcement, the brothers deuced their werewolf was living as a human in disguise, merging in with the locals. It made sense to them; monsters posing as humans was a banquet to them. That also meant they were smart enough to realize one slip up meant facing the wrath of hunters.

Fortunately for Sam and Dean, he did screw up big time. The werewolf (who originally posed as a concerned neighbor of the latest victim by the name of “Dale”) commented on Dean’s cologne and asked for a recommendation. Dean shyly brushed it off, but it tipped off Sam because he knew Dean didn’t wear anything fragrant other than the soap he washed with. When night fell upon the sleepy rural beach town with the ironic name, they made their move.

They kicked in the door of Dale’s house and started searching the place. No Dale, but Sam did discover a hidden door that led to an underground cellar. There was a chill down there as the brothers made their descent and were met with a gruesome sight.

The bodies of several dead women with Y/H/C hair were torn to shreds. Some were only missing their hearts, others…their heads…and then some. But there was one body that was completely intact. Sam’s heart jumped inside his chest; he raced over towards the woman and gingerly placed his fingers against her carotid pulse.

As he felt the beat of her heart beneath his fingers, a breath of relief escaped Sam just as the woman cracked open her eyes.

Sam’s own hazel spectrum eyes widen at the sight. “Dean!”

The older Winchester raced back down towards Sam.

“She’s alive!”

Dean was about to say something, but was tackled by Dale, who was no longer in his human form. A struggle ensued and it looked like Dean was losing. Sam knew his brother could handle it so he focused his attention on the surviving victim. He checked her over for signs of injury and found none. Though she was freezing, wearing nothing but a thin oversized t-shirt, short shorts, and a one-piece bathing suit underneath. She looked like she came here for a beach vacation and got nabbed instead.  _Some vacay_ , Sam thought.

“It’s alright,” Sam said softly, taking her wrist into his hands to take her pulse. “We’re here to help. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Her pulse was steady and strong, so Sam resigned himself to bring the woman into his arms just as he heard the sound of Dean’s pistol putting the werewolf down for good.

Dean came back, scuffed up and in need of a shower, but otherwise unharmed.  Sam’s faith in his brother had never let him down before, so why would tonight be any different? Dean gave Sam a nod, signaling him to take care of the woman now cradled bridal style in his strong arms. As Dean took care of the monster’s remains, Sam brought the woman above ground and carried her to the Impala. He managed to get the backseat door open while still holding her. The woman had woken up enough to have a weak grip on Sam’s body. He sat her down on the edge of the Impala’s interior leather.

“Thank you,” was all you managed to breathe out in your English accent before resting your head against the back.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N. How did you find me?”

“We’re hunters,” Sam began, but stopped himself knowing not everyone knew what that term really meant. “My brother and I…we hunt the thing that took you. He was a-”

“Werewolf,” you cut him off, knowing full and well what hunters were, “I figured as much when I came to in his cellar surrounded by bodies with their hearts carved out.”

“So…you’re familiar with our work,” Sam replied, taken aback slightly.

“Somewhat. I’ve heard things,” you said, feeling a bit better now that you were freezing your ass off in what you assumed was a wine cellar, meant to be cold. But that didn’t stop you from involuntarily wrapping your arms around your body to stifle a shiver.

Sam took off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. You muttered your thanks with a smile, which Sam returned before speaking again. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you bit back a yawn, “I think I just need a good meal and some sleep.” You started to get up, but your balance waivered as Dean was coming back towards the car. Sam reacted just in time for you to fall into his arms again. Dean quickened his pace and brought himself up behind the pair of you.

“Seems like you need a doctor before sleep,” Dean said, then realized he had manners. He stuck out his hand before saying, “I’m Dean, and your knight in boring plaid is Sam, my brother.”

You looked between the two of them and smiled. Sam felt his heart flutter at the sight. “Y/N. Nice to meet you. And your choice of words is impressive.”

“Not as impressive as your accent. Where are you from?” Sam just rolled his eyes and gave you a sympathetic smile before easing you back into the car.

“S-South Leigh. Just west of Oxford,” you were hoping neither brother noticed your stutter.  _It’s for their own good,_  you thought.

“Interesting,” Sam said as he helped you fully get into the backseat of the Impala. Dean slid into the driver’s seat as Sam made his way around to the passenger side to fold him lanky form in, shutting the door afterwards. “What brings you to America?” Sam turned around to face you as Dean started the car.

“Originally on holiday from university,” you said, feeling the car’s heater kick in and release your bones from their frigid prison. “I was supposed to stay in Salisbury, Maryland but heard about the nearly empty beach here. And, the name of the town peaked my interest, I won’t lie.” You grinned sheepishly.

“That, my dear is an understatement, given what was hiding around,” Dean called from the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention, sweetie? Just passed a hospital sign saying we’re about four miles away.”

“I’m sure. Like I said before, I just need something to eat and rest. Truth be told, I wasn’t down there for very long. But he didn’t seem the type of monster that had a menu planned for his ‘guests’…”

“Trust us, most monsters don’t,” Sam replied.

“Well, how do you feel about greasy, unhealthy American diner food?”

“At this point, I’ll eat a cow right off the field here,” you chuckled, pointing out the window towards a large cow field where many bovine wanderers were sleeping under the starry night sky.

Both brothers laughed at that, but truth be told, you were just thankful they were buying your lies.

_Sam and Dean are hunters,_  you thought grimly.  _There’s no telling what they’d do to me if they found out who I really was…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean offer Y/N a place in their home. All seems well, but how long will it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean
> 
> WARNING: FLUFF, ANGST, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, NIGHTMARES, SAM BEING AN AWKWARD NERVOUS PUPPY

 

* * *

 

Sam felt liberated.

He finally had a win. Him and Dean had found the monster, taken care of it and its den, and rescued someone successfully without anyone else getting hurt or killed in the process. He was practically beaming with pride at their success. There was a part of his brain that was telling him it was too good to be true, and soon the other shoe will drop. But he shoved that worry away. As it turned out, you were excellent company.

While enjoying a rather big plate of…well, everything, you’d told them all about your adventures growing up on a dairy farm in rural England, being raised to tend to processing milk and churning cheese for the bigger towns your family’s farm served. While it taught you a bunch of important life skills, it was boring at your age now. You wanted to get out and see the world. Travel, learn new languages, study abroad. Your dream was to immigrate to the United States and become a history professor. When you became of age, you wasted no time after turning sixteen securing a British passport and traveled to America as often as you could afford.

Sam was enamored by the wealth of knowledge you possessed on ancient folklore and local British legends. Dean just sat back and watch his geek brother fangirl over your storytelling.

When it came time to pay for the meal, you realized you’d been stripped of all your monetary values, including your wallet, American money, some British money, and your beloved passport. You were about to apologize and beg the brother to give you a chance to make it up to them, but then you realized the ticket had already been paid.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you pouted, though you knew you had no right to, “please let me pay you back in some way.”

“No can do, sweetheart,” Dean replied smoothly. “You just survived something not many people are willing to talk about, let alone go back to their previously chipper selves’ hours post-rescue. Besides, you’ve kept Sammy here entertained. And that is enough to earn you a meal in my book. Nope, don’t wanna hear it,” Dean held up his hand as you were about to argue. “Seriously, Y/N. It’s alright.”

You sank back in your booth seat, disappointed. “Alright.”

With a satisfied smile from Dean, and another sympathetic grin from Sam, you followed the men back to their car. You had a moment to take in the sleek black 1967 Chevrolet’s beauty.

“This is an absolutely lovely car, Dean,” you said, practically drooling. “She’s well cared for, that’s certain.”

“I like to think I take good care of my Baby,” Dean mused, a stupid grin on his face; Sam just rolled his eyes.

“Is that her name? Baby?”

“Yes, ma’am it is.”

You reached out to touch the paint job but held your hand back. “May I?”

Dean went from proud to impressed. “You may.” Dean looked at Sam with an expression that just said  _“this one’s a keeper!”_  Again, Sam rolled his eyes.

You proceeded to fangirl over the car’s…everything. From the chrome rims to the smell of the interior leather, you did a full three-sixty walk around the Impala, your eyes lighting up as if you’d been handed your newborn baby after giving birth.

Sam just groaned and said, “you can swim back to England.”

That caused you to laugh out loud, and Sam didn’t realize how beautiful it sounded until they were already on the road.

“So,” Dean said after a few hours, Sam’s soft snores filling the car, “some place we can drop you off? You said you were staying in Salisbury, right? It’s not too far away from us.”

You pondered, wondering how far to take your bullshit story.

“Pull over.”

Dean hesitated as Sam started to stir from his nap.

“What?” Dean asked.

He looked at you from the rearview mirror. You met his eyes with your own serious gaze. “Pull over.”

Dean complied this time. But before either brother could say anything, you were out of the car and walked away from them on the highway.

“Woah woah woah, hey, Y/N! Wait! Hold up!” Both brothers were calling after you as you kept walking away. Their persistence to keep you close was starting to bug you. You needed them as far away from here as possible if you were ever going to get home.

Sam reached you first and spun you around to face him. “Hey, what’s going on? Why are you walking away?”

“And where the hell do you think you’re going? We’re in the middle of nowhere!” Dean said, slightly agitated.

“Look I appreciate your help. I really do! But… I’ve already trespassed on your hospitality quite enough and I don’t want to be a burden to you! Thank you for everything, really, I mean it. You two have such big hearts. Just…” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose with your right hand, “let me go my own way. I’ll figure out how to get back to England somehow…”

“Sweetheart it’s the middle of the night,” Dean said, worry evident in his voice.

“Plus, no offense,” Sam began, gesturing towards you, “but you’re still in just your bathing suit. You literally have nothing but the clothes on your back and it’s only gonna get colder. It’s dangerous out here, someone could see you walking the highway and you could get hurt. Or worse.”

_Damn them and their bloody chivalric virtues,_  you thought bitterly. But you maintained your stoic expression.

“Come home with us.”

“What?” You gaped.

“Look,” Dean started, “we have a home in Lebanon, Kansas. It’s really big, plenty of room, it’s no trouble. You’ll be safe. Let us keep you safe. It’s pretty rare that werewolves are loners, but there’s no telling if ‘Dale’ back there was part of a pack. Werewolves have your scent for life and they could come looking for you.”

“Besides,” Sam continued, “it’s gonna be some time before you can replace your passport. We can help you get a new one if you need to, but at the very least…our home is in the middle of nowhere. Far away from any part of a cop’s usual beat. This way, you’ll be safe not just in terms of the supernatural, but from the law too.”

You stared at them incredulously.

This was going to make your life a lot harder than it should’ve been, but what choice did you have? On the other hand, Sam and Dean were hunters, and you could essentially use their skills to your advantage.

With a great sigh, you decided to stay with them.

Sam was first back at the car, opening the back door for you. You smiled at him as he nodded his head in appreciation. When he got back into the passenger seat, he fished something out from underneath it. Looking up, Sam handed you a thick wool blanket.

“Once we find a motel for the night, we can think about replacing your clothes,” Sam suggested. “I can’t imagine what you’re wearing is entirely comfortable.”

“It wouldn’t be so damn itchy if I’d actually gotten to swim in it, I must confess,” you replied sheepishly.

Not another word was passed between the three of you until Dean was passing through a town that looked like it had what they needed. A diner, a couple of shops, and a dingy motel where the rooms had questionable…everything.

Dean’s brain must’ve been on autopilot because when he unlocked the door to let you inside, you spied only two king sized beds. It was amusing to you when Dean started stumbling over his words, as if to apologize for greatly offending you.

“It’s alright,” you said, grinning slightly. “I can always sleep on the floor. Or in the car.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Sam replied firmly. “I-I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, and then we get to hear you whine all day tomorrow when your back is out of alignment,” Dean grumbled, then turned to you. “Look, for everyone’s sanity, it might be best if…well, uh…”

“If one of you shares a bed with me?” You finished for him, and he looked as though you’d just embarrassed him. “Look, I don’t mind. It’s apparent neither of you are used to having motel company, so I understand the mishap.”

Sam and Dean both looked at each other curiously, making you wish you could read their minds. But before either of them could step up, you made your way towards the bed closest to the back wall. Dean looked at Sam and smirked.

“I take it Sam normally sleeps by the bathrooms?” you suggested.

“U-Uh, yeah,” Sam stuttered. You suppressed a giggle; you were certain you’d already mortified him enough.

Dean made his way towards the bed closest to the door and tossed his duffel bag on top. It was well past eleven in the evening, so everyone just did their business before settling in for the night. By the time your head hit the pillow, you were surprised you didn’t pass out immediately. In fact, you laid awake for what felt like hours before Sam settled into bed beside you. If you were still living at home, the thought of a man you didn’t know sharing a bed with you would’ve freaked you out. But, for some reason, it was like you and Sam had bedded together for years. You lost yourself in those thoughts before sleep overcame you.

* * *

Some time in the night, Sam awoke to the bed shaking slightly. He stirred, reaching for his pistol he’d tucked under his pillow and scanned the room. But when he saw you were the cause of the bed shakes, he put it away. He reached over to try and wake you but all it did was cause whatever nightmare you were suffering through to worsen. Your screams were sure to be heard throughout the motel property. Dean turned on the nightstand light beside his bed to find the source of the commotion. He met with Sam’s worried eyes; it was clear he was losing the battle of helping you.

Both brothers eventually, with much shaking and coaxing, woke you from your troubled sleep and you shot up out of bed and bolted for the door. Sam made it to the threshold before you and you slammed into the sturdy wall that was his chest; he wrapped his arms around you. Fresh tears of agony spilled forth from your eyes. Sam wrapped his arms around you as Dean came up to rub large, soft circles on your back as you sobbed. The brothers eased you back towards the bed and sat you down, Dean running off to grab some toilet paper to dab the corners of your eyes.

Your cries softened to hushed hiccups, your eyes swollen and bloodshot.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked quietly.

“I couldn’t even begin to explain it,” you replied quietly.

“You could try,” Sam urged gently, hoping he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries.

You looked up, but not at either brother. “No…I really couldn’t. I shan’t even try…” you hiccupped before another wave of emotions broke the dam that was your heart, and you cried once more. Dean looked at Sam, who just nodded.  _“I got her, go back to bed,”_  his nod said.

Sam picked you back up, shifted you under the covers, and snuggled under them himself. He brought you into his embrace once more, and Dean shut off the light next to him, blanketing the motel room in darkness once more.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sam began, speaking softly into your hair, “you don’t owe us an explanation. You can just lay here, be silent, or continue to cry if you need to. But know this,” he brought you closer to his chest, his heart pounding against your skin, bringing with it a sense of calm, “I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re here. You can trust me.”

The two of you were silent for a long time. But before you fell asleep, not even sure Sam would hear it, you whispered, “thank you, Sam. For everything.”

It was the last thing Sam heard before he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

The drive back to the bunker was a lot less eventful. The three of you dressed, ate, packed up and left all before either o’clock in the morning. Sam was reading stuff from his tablet, and he’d let you borrow his iPod and headphone in case you needed music or an audiobook to read. You chose to listen to one his books, something to do with ancient Chinese folklore surrounding Nian, a creature surrounding the origins of the Chinese New Year.

Driving through another town, Sam noticed a small shop that supplied itself with women clothing. Sam suggested you go in there and pick out something to wear home, as well as a coat, shoes, and whatever else you would need to last you until he could take you into town in Kansas and properly replace your wardrobe.

You wanted to protest, but you realized you were starting to dislike the swimsuit you were still wearing and agreed. But when you insisted on going in alone, Dean reminded you who had the means to pay for it, and it certainly wasn’t you.

An hour later, you were walking out of the shop fully dressed in what Sam believed to be the highest of female hunting fashion. But he also couldn’t help how nicely shaped your ass was in your new skinny jeans. Dean shoved Sam slightly at his gawking, giving him a look that just screamed  _“Dude, you’re NOT hitting that. Not yet.”_  Sam just rolled his eyes.

You had to admit that you went a little overboard with the shopping, but neither brother said anything and were happy to fork over their credit card to the merchant. “Thank you both so much for the clothes. I promise to pay you back when-”

“Y/N, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Dean firmly said, “you don’t owe us anything.”

“But-”

“No buts. Now, let’s get back on the road. I’m due for another long night’s sleep and I don’t wanna sleep in the car.” You nodded your approval and the three of you were back on the road. A few more stops for fuel, both for the Impala and yourselves, followed for the rest of the trip.

Before you knew it, the Impala was being pulled into what looked like an underground fallout shelter. Except they housed several different kinds of cars which probably hadn’t seen the light of day since the 1960s.

“Welcome to our humble abode, Y/N,” Dean said with pride as you got out of the car.

“You guys preparing for a nuclear holocaust any time soon?” You mused, grabbing your shopping bags.

“Maybe,” Sam said with a cheeky grin.

They made their way inside, and it looked like something straight out of a 50’s history book. It was breathtaking to say the least.

“Wow,” was all you managed. Sam came up from behind and smiled.

“Here, let me take those,” he said, easing his hands into the shopping bag handles, taking them from you, “and let’s go find you a room to settle in.”

Sam and Dean gave you a detailed tour of the place, showing you where all the main areas were, the layout of the kitchen (which you took detailed, internal notes of) where all the bathrooms and storage rooms were, as well as the dungeon (which you thought was eerie yet intriguing given their line of work). Then, Dean opened the door to a room with the number 15 embossed with brass lettering. Sam wanted to say something but held his tongue. His mother Mary usually slept in there. It was unknown to him whether or not she was ever going to come back.

“This will be your room,” Dean said, opening the door for you to enter first. You took in the surroundings. There was a nice sized bed in the center, complete with a comforter set, as well as a desk, chair, dresser and walk-in closet. But it looked kind of… off.

“Are you sure about this room?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound ungrateful.

“Is there something wrong with this one?” Dean asked, not sounding like he was offended.

“We can find you another room if this one is too small,” Sam added, “we’d have to clean it out, but that won’t be a-”

“No no, this room is fine, nice even! It’s just,” you took a deep breath before turning back inside, “it looks like someone else already stays here…”

The broad-shouldered brothers exchanged a somber look; it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“I’m sorry, was it something I said?”

“Our mother used to stay here…” Sam said sadly.

“She’s not here…right now,” Dean finished hesitantly.

“Oh,” you breathed, “I-um…I’m sorry…”

Neither man spoke. Almost as if they were afraid to say what they were thinking aloud. You held your tongue.

“It’s fine, really, it is,” you said hurriedly. You went to sit on the bed, marveling at how soft and comfortable it was. You always did like a soft mattress. “This bed is lovely. Thank you so much.”

Sam and Dean just smiled before Dean spoke up. “Well kids, I think it’s time for bed. I’m beat.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed. You yawned and started taking your shoes off. Sam went on. “We’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything, my room is 21, next door. Dean’s is 11, down the hall and around the corner. Don’t be afraid to knock at any time. We’re here for you.”

You smiled your thanks once more before the men left you to your own devices, shutting the door behind them.

Outside your door, when the Winchester believed you wouldn’t hear, they spoke in hushed voices.

“What’re you thinking? I know that look,” Dean said.

“I felt…relieved we were able to save Y/N. I really am.”

“…but?”

“That’s Mom’s room.”

“Technically, it’s the guest room. And Mom wasn’t the only one who stayed in there. Cas has, as well as Mick. But none of them are here, and Y/N needs that room more than them right now.”

“I know it’s just-”

“Just what?”

Sam let out a deep, exacerbated breath. “Nothing, I guess. Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

“Probably,” Dean sighed, “but it’s not for nothing. You’re worried. I am too. But we’re gonna find Mom. We’re gonna find Jack, and Cas, and send Lucifer back to the burning fucking cage he crawled out of. But for now, let’s just take a deep breath and one step at a time. Y/N needs shelter. And I don’t know about you, but this place could use a woman’s touch. Soften things up a bit.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s own sigh escaped his lips, “I suppose you’re right.”

“C’mon Sammy. Go get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

Sam watched his older brother walk away towards his own room, leaving him standing in front of Y/N’s room. He meant what he’d said: he was grateful for a win. But that nagging feeling in the back of his mind came back to haunt him. How much longer would this win last them?

* * *

The following morning, Sam woke up to the smell of food. But nothing specific; yet everything specific. It was as if everything the kitchen had was being prepared and made for breakfast. Sam stumbled out of bed, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. He met up with Dean in the hallway leading towards the war room, who just grunted at him. They both made their way to the kitchen and what met their tired eyes stirred them from their slumbering muses.

The kitchen table bore several different types of foods: pancakes, waffles, griddle cakes, eggs, bacon (a  _lot_  of bacon) hash browns, sausage, bowls of grits, oatmeal; then they were different kinds of drinks. Coffee, juice, milk, all of different flavors. Behind the chaos, you were bent over the oven wearing an apron and oven mitts as you pulled out what looked like a casserole.

Both boys sank into their chairs at the table in perfect sync of each other, the sound of their butts making a  _plop!_ noise in their seats alerting you of their presence.

“Oh, good morning, gentlemen!” you said cheerfully, sticking a toothpick in the casserole to ensure it was cooked to perfection.

“What’s all this?” Sam yawned as he poured himself a cup of coffee, passing the carafe towards Dean.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure what you all liked for breakfast, so…I made it all. Worse comes to worse, we can package the leftovers and eat them for brunch!”

“I didn’t even know we had all this,” Dean waved his hand over the buffet. “And I’m the one who keeps the kitchen functional.”

“Well, truthfully, a lot of the ingredients were closed to their expiration, so I wanted to ensure it all got used before it went sour,” you said as you brought the casserole to the table, squeezing it in between the stacks of hot cakes and waffles.

Sam leaned over to smell the casserole and his stomach audibly rumbled in approval. Blushing, his hand flattened over the organ.

You just smiled. “Judging by your two towering frames, I can confidently deduce you two eat your fill. Don’t hold back, take as much as you like!”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed some plates for the three of you and helped himself to some pancakes, sausage links, hash browns, eggs, more coffee, and dug in. His moans could be taken as something rather saucy, but you managed to stifle your giggles.

“What’s this?” Sam pointed to the casserole.

“This is my own family’s recipe for marmalade French toast casserole. My Gran used to make it every Sunday after Mass. She’d always make too much so she had a habit of inviting the entire village.”

Sam took a slotted spoon and fished out a helping for himself and offered to do the same for you. After your plate had been made, Sam took a bite and started making the same noises his brother did. “Y/N, this is amazing!”

“I’d like to think Gran taught me well,” you mused, taking a big bite yourself, savoring the tang of the orange marmalade mingling perfectly with the browned starchiness of the topped walnuts.

“So, your Granny taught you how to cook?” Dean said as you reveled at the fact that his plate was already empty and he was reaching for seconds. You were thankful you cooked so much.

“I was raised to be a housekeeper. Cooking, cleaning, laundering, essential household chores. It’s what I know.”

“I can see that,” Dean said with a mouthful of bacon. You merely smiled at him.

“Now I can see why you wanted to go to college,” Sam chuckled. You chuckled in response.

“Yes, well, I had a yearning for the finer things in life. You know, studying abroad, learning new languages. Can’t do all that from the confines of a small English village…”

“Heh, true enough,” Sam replied, pushing his plate back, enjoying the sensation of having a fully satisfied stomach for the first time in a long time. He sipped his coffee lazily as Dean patted his stomach with a shit-eating grin.

“Ugh,” he groaned, rubbing his belly with greed, “I’m ‘bout to have this baby any day now.”

You and Sam laughed. “I’ll make sure there’s a plunger standing by,” you mused. Sam and Dean laughed more.

You stood up before speaking again. “I’d like to propose an offer.” Both men gave you their undivided attention, seeing how you’d grown serious. “I would very much like to stay here long term, but I cannot do so under the guise of freedom.” When Sam and Dean gave you a confused look, you elaborated. “I do not wish to trespass on your hospitality without some sort of reprise. So I’d like to make a proposal: you two allow me to stay here as long as I see fit, and in exchange, I can put some of my Gran’s teachings and wisdom to good use. I can cook, bake if you prefer something sweet, keep the place clean, the laundry managed, and whatever else you feel I can provide.”

The brothers tried to argue with you, but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. This was your offer, and they could either take it and be happy with it, or you could go back to your room and pack to leave. Since the brothers didn’t want you to go, fearing for your safety, they rested their argument and agreed.

Your smile lit up the room and Sam could feel its warmth.

* * *

Several weeks went by and the brothers couldn’t help but finally feel at peace. Since you’d come to live with them, the bunker had never been cleaner or more organized. Sam and Dean hadn’t had to do laundry or dishes once; you were on top of it before either of them realized it needed to be done. So in that time, the brother decided to take it easy for the first time in…ever. Now that Dean thought about it, he realized him and his baby brother had never taken a real vacation, or at least, decent amount of time off. They were, however, in agreement if a case found its way to their sphere of knowledge, they’d go after it. You were in complete agreement with staying behind. You had no intention of going on a hunt. Though you kept your true intentions to yourself.

Another thought that crossed Dean’s mind was rather superficial, but one that needed to be voiced aloud. He pulled Sam aside one day and spoke of his concerns that you might be tied to the British Men of Letters. Sam brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “just because she’s British doesn’t means she’s a  _Brit_.” Still, the brothers confronted you about it.

“What’s a man of letters,” you asked, having no honest idea what they were talking about.

“Well, you see, uh, heh,” Sam started off nervously.

“You know you’re in a Men of Letters bunker, right?” Dean filled in, and you nodded, remembering the history of the now-defunct organization and how Sam and Dean were ‘legacies.’ “Well, there apparently is a British version and…well, let’s just say we’re not on good terms with them.”

“Now, we believe them to all be wiped out, just like the original American Men of Letters are, save for us,” Sam said, pointing between him and Dean, “But…”

“You want to make sure I’m not some evil Brit with a hidden agenda?”

Sam and Dean looked like you shot their dog, and you couldn’t blame them. Sam took off his shoes to show you the burn scars along the side of each foot. You grimaced at the sight; you couldn’t imagine the amount of pain he’d gone through. And you were certain he wasn’t telling you  _everything_  these British Men of Letter guys did to him.

“Truthfully,” you began, “I’ve never been to London. I’ve passed around it to make my way down to Cardiff or up towards Glasgow, but Mum and Dad weren’t fond of ‘Her Majesty’s imperial headquarters’ as they called it. So, I think you’re safe.” You smiled at them, and it looked like they were visibly breathing out the stress this issue clearly caused them.

More time passed after that.

Sam became more and more smitten by you by the day. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t that you were beautiful (though that definitely helped), but you held yourself to a high standard. When you aimed to do something, you put your whole heart into it. You stood by whatever you said with actions. You were smart, clever, witty (proving on one or two occasions when Dean tried to out-sass you, to Sam’s amusement) and you really did know your way around the kitchen. He kind of wished you’d put up more of a fight when it came to hunting; he believed your knowledge of lore would prove useful. He imagined you would be easy to teach some self defense and fighting skills. But he held his tongue. He respected your wishes and boundaries and left it settled.

But one day, while you were in the process of making the crust for a blueberry pie, Sam couldn’t help but watch you as you worked. He admired your movements in general. You were making a pie with no premade recipe. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you needed help and offer a cookbook. But he knew better.

Sam didn’t hear Dean coming up from behind. “Dude, if you don’t ask her out, I will. And I won’t share.”

Sam jumped slightly at the sound of Dean’s voice. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh so, you’re watching her ass for fun?” Dean gave him a look that said  _“you’re full of shit.”_

“I’m not watching her-” Sam sighed, not in the mood to argue. Yet, he couldn’t deny how it probably looked. And he wasn’t going to lie to himself; he  _did_  feel something towards you. But was it something worth risking a relationship? Sam had resigned to be single forever since almost every woman he’d ever loved (or considered worthy of taking out on a date) had ended up dead. You were someone he didn’t want to take that chance with. “You know my history with women. Even if she reciprocated the feelings I have…”

“I know,” was all Dean said, and Sam knew what it meant. So they dropped the subject.

They both ended up watching her in the kitchen. You were looking for ingredients for something in the filling.

“Where is that damned sifter?” You said aloud to no one in particular.

Dean was about to step into the kitchen to find it for you.

Until the sifter, as well as remaining bowl of sugar, and milk from the fridge, all floated towards your person.

Sam and Dean both stared in shock.

“Ahh there you are!” You said happily. “I was wondering when you’d find me.”

You waved your hand and all the ingredients started adding themselves to the big mixing bowl, and the sifter started sifting flour on its own.

The brother acted on instinct. Both pull their weapons out and tactically moved into the kitchen with deadly silence. Dean reached you first. He wasted no time headbutting you with the back of his pistol, knocking you out clean and right into Sam’s arms.

“Take her to the dungeon,” Dean said, angrily serious. “Damnit, she played us good. Never would’ve suspected she was a witch.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean confront the reader about who she really is. But is she telling the truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, Unnamed OCs (mentioned)
> 
> WARNING: ANGST, READER TIED UP IN A DUNGEON, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

 

* * *

 

Sam did as he was told by Dean and carried you down towards their devil’s trap dungeon. And he was kicking himself.

_I knew things were too good to be true,_  he thought bitterly as he slid the doors open with his foot, your unconscious frame still in his arms. He set you down in the chair center below a giant devil’s trap, salt lining the paint. Your head lulled to the side and Sam had to prop you up to secure you into the chains properly. Dean would have a fit if he showed any leniency, so he secured them as tight as he could without restricting blood flow. If you really were a witch (though at this point, seeing what you did in the kitchen, he couldn’t deny the evidence) the chains would do their job. He checked the pulses in both wrists after the chains were fastened to your skin, and verified you were still breathing before taking a step back to wait for Dean. No doubt his big brother was securing the rest of the bunker to make sure you didn’t leave any surprised for them to find the hard way; specifically hex bags, which have caused both brothers a lot of trouble in the past.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and watched you like a hawk. He was angry with himself, but when he thought about it, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t either brother’s fault; you showed no outward, obvious sign prior to today. You’d given off no vibe or bad feeling that would warn the hunters’ you were a threat. If they hadn’t been watching you in the kitchen, they’d have been none the wiser.

Sam really didn’t know what to think about all this. Judging by appearances alone, you looked like a normal young woman whom he just chained up like a monster. But then again, some of the most powerful witches him and Dean had encountered appeared on the surface as normal, everyday housewives. As much as his heart was telling him that you were different, his hunter’s brain was telling him to take no chances. As much as Rowena had become their ally over time, she was still a powerful witch and the mother of the former King of Hell Crowley, and she somehow always managed to screw them over even after they help her. As much as Ruby initially had good intentions for Sam (though that was his addiction to her demonic bloodstream influencing him at the time) she still ended up tricking him into releasing Lucifer from his cage in Hell.

As a human being with feelings and emotions, Sam wanted to release you and beg Dean to spare your life. But as a hunter whose entire job was to kill all dangerous supernatural beings, it would be suicide.

Dean showed up a few minutes later, the pissed-off expression on his face only growing more pronounced as he got closer into the dungeon.

“She still out?” Dean asked in a gruff voice.

Sam just nodded, his voice too weak to speak.

“We really screwed up this time,” Dean sighed, checking his pistol over before chambering a round for immediate discharge should the need arise. “We were stupid enough to fall for the whole ‘helpless female victim’ scheme and let a witch into the most heavily warded building in America. Fuck!”

“Dean, we couldn’t have known,” Sam whispered, “if we hadn’t been there outside the kitchen watching her, we would’ve never known. And you know it. Neither of us could’ve prevented this if we wanted to. She…” Sam steadied himself, “she kept it hidden.”

“Yeah well, my question is why?” Dean spat. Sam knew when his brother was in ‘hunter mode’ he made up his mind and nothing rarely changed it. Sam doubted he could do or say anything to convince him to spare your life now. “What was her gain? Why did she hide it from us? What does she want from us? Is she in league with demons? Rowena? Is she a Lucifer puppet?”

“Dean.”

“I’m just saying! No witch has ever tried to worm their way into our lives if they weren’t trying to destroy it.”

A small rattle of the chains got their attention. Dean brought his pistol up at the ready in the event you tried anything. Sam knew he couldn’t stop him so he remained on his guard but didn’t redraw his weapon.

You stirred some more before slowly opening your eyes, grimacing at the throbbing pain in the back of your skull. Then you came to your senses and recognized where you were. Your eyes met Dean’s and your fear escalated.

Most witches whom they tied up woke up and immediately went on the defensive; hurling insults at them, swearing death and destruction upon being released, but you…you just sat there. Scared. Defeated. Resigned to death.

If Dean noticed this, he didn’t say anything or act on it.

“So,” you said, your voice flat, “you were watching me in the kitchen…”

“We ask the questions here, bitch,” Dean spat. “Who the hell are you?”

“I told you who I was, Dean. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“You’re a liar,” Dean replied, “you lied to us about everything. At this point, there’s nothing you can say to save yourself.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” you replied, lowering your head.

Dean blinked. “What?”

You looked back up. “I have nothing to hide from you. I have no reason to lie to you.”

“So why didn’t you tell us you were a witch?”

“Truthfully,” you said, “you never asked.”

Dean scoffed, but Sam had your undivided attention.

“And I had no reason to tell you. Where I come from…first off…we’re druids. Or mages. The term ‘witch’ tends to be synonymous with evil-doers who happen to be powerful. It’s something of an insult. Second off, mages are left to practice their craft in peace. Everyone around the UK knows of my village. It’s where the magical community lives peacefully. There isn’t a non-magic person who threatens our way of life. It’s law.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked, frustrated.

“Her Majesty’s court is well aware of my village and their uses. It’s why some members of her inner sanctum are secretly court magic advisers. It’s law that anyone who threatens our way of life is charged with high treason, and the punishment is death.”

“So wait, you’re basically living in the times of King Arthur when it’s 2018?” Dean said.

“Were King Arthur actually real, sure, why not…”

Neither brother responded to that, though Sam had to fight back an urge to correct Dean on the mythological history of King Arthur. So he did the next best thing.

“Dean?” Sam said, nudging his head out of the dungeon. Dean gave you one last glare before following his younger brother towards the hall. “I may be able to prove if she’s lying or not.”

“What do you mean? She’s already been caught in one lie!” Dean fumed.

“Technically she never told us she wasn’t a witch and we didn’t ask. Doesn’t seem very fair to hold that against her. But no, what I mean is if she tells us about where she’s  _really_  from, and we prove it’s right, we may be able to-”

“To what? Trust her? Are you fucking insane, Sam? She’s a goddamn  _witch!_  How many of her kind have we trusted and how many of them haven’t stabbed us in the back?!”

Dean was shouting so loud you could hear every he said. But even if you hadn’t, you’d already made up your mind. Your fate was decided for you.

_“I just hope Mum and Da find another way to save the village…”_  you thought.

When the doors opened again, only Dean emerged.

He just walked by, making sure you saw him recheck his weapon and chamber the round again, then sat on the edge of the table.

“Witch killing bullets,” he said with pride. “One shot, and poof! Ding dong, you get my drift.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You mused back.

“Nah,” Dean sighed, “just figured I’d do you the basic courtesy of  _keeping you informed_. You know, something you clearly don’t give a shit about.”

You just lowered your head, staying silent. Dean furrowed his brows.

“Really?”

You looked up.

“No…begging for your life, no…threatening mine, no ‘I’ll murder everyone you ever loved’ speech?”

“It wouldn’t change your mind, Dean. Only you can do that.”

Dean stared at you for a moment, and it almost seemed his expression softened. You went on.

“I knew coming here was a risk. Why do you think I tried to get away? Leave? I didn’t want to come here because I knew what you two would do if you found out the truth. But you two…if I had a complaint about you and Sam…it’s that you two are way too generous for your own good. Dean, if you’re going to blame anything or anyone on this situation…blame yourself. And that big heart of yours.”

Dean snorted, but he couldn’t deny it. You were right. Him and Sam had been so concerned for your safely and well-being, they disregarded the integrity and security of the bunker. You could’ve been anyone. Dean was sure his father was spinning in his grave; if he’d had one.

Dean decided to try a different tactic. If you really did mean them no harm and had nothing to hide-

“Where are you really from, Y/N?”

“The Avalonian Isle of Cumhacht.”

“Bless you.”

You threw him a bitch face that rivaled Sam’s. Dean was internally impressed. “Cumhacht is Gaelic for ‘power’. It’s a small island between the Irish and Scottish coasts. And it’s sanctioned and protected by Her Majesty The Queen, Elizabeth II and her court. All of the remaining druids, mages, herbalists, alchemists and the like all reside on the island. It’s our safe haven. Like I said before, we’re protected by law. Anyone who threatens our way of life is convicted of high treason and immediately sentenced to death. And…from my knowledge, nobody bats an eyelash at us. We live, work, practice our respective crafts in peace. Even around non-magickind. I’m going to assume such a commodity is not common in America?”

Dean soaked in the information, pondering. If you were indeed lying, you were either very good at it, or extremely rehearsed. But given how much pride you put out in speaking (and Dean knew a thing or two about speaking with pride about ones’ self), he was starting to think maybe you were there for good intentions and not to murder them all like American witches. It was entirely possible you didn’t know a damn thing about American hunters and they custom for killing witches. But one thing still bothered Dean.

“When you said you wanted us to drop you off on the side of the road…”

“I was going to open a portal back to my village and report my failure.”

Dean peered at you through slightly squinted eyes, the crows’ feet from the corners of his forest-green eyes accentuating his rugged features. He knew all too well the feelings of failure, especially when lives were counting on complete success.

“What happens if I do kill you? What will your village think?”

You just smiled, as if he’d asked you if you knew the answer to one plus one. “Common knowledge dictates if one ventures past the walls of Oxford in seek of help, and they do not return…the risks were understood and drink is poured in their memories. I am no different. Mum and Da shared their concerns, yes, but I’m an adult whose capable of making her own choices. I knew there was some chance American hunters would catch me and waste me away before I could even find the help we seek. But-”

“You were on a mission,” Sam finished for you, entering the dungeon with a laptop in his hand. “And nothing was going to stop you from completing it. Am I right?”

“More or less.”

“Find anything, Sammy?”

“I did,” Sam said, sitting down at the table. “And when I overheard you mention Cumhacht, I did a little digging.”

“I doubt you’ll find anything about the Isle online,” you mused, settling into your chains. You had a feeling you weren’t going to be freed of them anytime soon. “Public knowledge of anything related to Avalon is widely considered a myth.”

“True,” Sam grinned, “but ninety-nine percent of anyone living today isn’t aware of what the Men of Letters are either. And it turns out…” he pulled out a stack of files with big red ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamps on them. He flipped one of them open and started scanning them before speaking. “Back in 1946, it was rumored that archives of ancient lore related to the Avalonian civilization was there, and several Men of Letters journeyed there to retrieve it.”

“I doubt they would’ve gotten far,” you sighed, “as welcoming as we are to non-magickind, anyone not from England is generally viewed as an outsider and treated with fervent distrust.”

“And the men were anticipating that, which is why they planned a trade. Information for information. They give your people something they needed and, in exchange, retrieve the archives they set out to find.”

“I’m guessing this adventure doesn’t have a happy ending,” Dean suggested.

“None of the men were ever heard from again. In fact, there’s no record of them ever reaching their destination.”

“If an outsider sails by boat,” you recalled, “our island is surrounded by a magic barrier. Anyone who wants to get in without an invitation…well…”

Sam and Dean stayed silent. You resigned to looking back down at the floor.

“It was never my intention to cause you trouble,” you said after a few moments of silence.

The brothers looked up at you.

“I tried to leave, but you insisted I stay. I don’t blame you for it; if anything it’s my fault. But…” you took a deep breath before meeting their eyes with a fierce determination. “If you’re not going to release me, then just kill me.”

Sam’s look of shock was nothing to the stoic expression Dean maintained.

“I have no right to ask anything of my captors. But…at least do it sometime before dawn. I don’t care of its quick or messy, tortured-filled or not, just…if I can’t return home, I’d rather be dead.”

Several thoughts and emotions were racing through Sam faster than his now-pounding heart. So many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t get the chance to voice them.

“We’re not going to kill you,” Dean said evenly.

You looked up at him slowly as Sam whipped his head towards his brother. But Dean maintained eye contact with you, your Y/E/C eyes starting to mist up.

“You were right,” he admitted, “we’re trained to hunt and kill the supernatural, witches- or, druids- included. We acted on instinct. And it wasn’t the right move. It not your fault. And for that,” he bent down to unlock your shackles from your neck, wrists and ankles, but stayed at eye level, “I’m sorry.”

You locked eyes with Dean for a heartbeat before saying, “Never apologize for being yourself. It’s the worst insult to one’s character.”

For the first time since you were clocked in the head, Dean smiled at you.

“Come here,” he said softly, and held out his arms. You slowly got up from the (now that you thought about it) uncomfortable dungeon chair and embraced the older hunter. He held you close to his chest, the apex of his heart thumping softly against your scalp. Sam got up to give you a hug too, but his lasted much longer and was warmer. When he thought Dean wasn’t looking, he kissed the top of your head; a quick peck but one that you’d be feeling for the next few days.

Walking out of the dungeon, Sam asked, “So…what now?”

“I think it’s time for you two to know my true tale.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking with you, Sam and Dean decide to travel with you to help with the crisis back home. Will they make it out alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: ANGST, FLUFF, DRAGONS, FIERY DEATH, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE
> 
> Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, OCs (mentioned)

 

* * *

 

The three of you found your way back to the war room. Dean made some more coffee and offered you some, which you gratefully accepted. The hot, dark roast calmed your aching body and spirit. Sam continued watching you with curious eyes. Dean sat down next to his brother, waiting for you to start speaking.

“I am a seventeenth generation Druid,” you started. “My family and I were mostly farmers on the outside, but it was well known the Y/L/N Clan was famous and revered for keeping the Isle safe.”

“Safe from what?” Sam asked.

“Everything. More recently, what some would consider nothing more than Celtic folklore storytelling. The  _Finscéalta na Ársa_ , or Tales of the Ancient.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Sam piped up, earning a strange look from Dean. “It tells the story of heroes who posed as humble poor farmers. One of them was known to be the unofficial leader, of sorts…”

“The ‘leader’ you speak of was named Sean Blathmac. Sean is my ancestor, and the one who started the tradition of my Clan being nothing more than a  _Fianna,_  or warrior band,” you confirmed, “obviously we’ve grown to more than that over time, but it has been our job to protect the Isle from anything evil that could come through. Coming from a long line of druids himself, his grandfather before him was the one who designed the magic barrier.

“The barrier is now guarded by a mythical dragon. He’s never had a name, though most who know of him simply call him ’ _peist_ ’ which loosely translates to 'beast’. Back in the day, it meant 'pest’.”

“Shocking,” Dean mused dryly. Sam shot him a look before nodding towards you to continue.

“Anyway, Peist, we believe, has been somehow corrupted by malevolent forces. He abandoned his nest at the top of the barrier and hasn’t been seen…”

You paused, reflecting on how best to tell the rest of the story.

“Y/N?” Sam nudged. “What is it?”

After a deep breath, with a tear sliding down your cheek, you continued, “he’s been attacking us.”

Both brothers’ faces slid into grim expressions.

“That’s not all,” you sighed.

“Of course,” Dean said, “it’s always gotta be worse, doesn’t it?”

A eye roll from Sam was all he got in response.

“Peist is threatening to destroy all of the United Kingdom if he’s not stopped. I was sent to America to find help. If it were something within our own borders, I wouldn’t even be here…but…well…”

“You’ve already told us this much. You might as well finish the story,” Dean said, though there wasn’t a hint of anguish in his voice. You were starting to wonder if he was coming around to you. This warmed your heart slightly.

“We believe Peist was corrupted by one of our own. I can’t say for certain who, mostly because I just don’t know who would want to destroy their own homeland; pretty much everyone older than I have never left the island. It’s our only home… but that’s neither here nor there.

"You’ve already released me from the…whatever that place was,” you stood up and faced Sam and Dean. “I have to go back home and face this. That was my mission and I intend to complete it, regardless if I live or die in the process. Either let me go home, or kill me now. You won’t get another chance.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then they stood up to walk towards the kitchen. You assumed they needed to discuss things, so you stayed where you were.

Once they knew you were out of hearing range, Dean spoke up. “So what do you think?”

“You heard her,” Sam sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, “everything she said I was able to confirm online. Minus the whole Druid and dragon thing. But then again, she did say that wouldn’t be possible. She hasn’t lied to us yet.”

“True,” Dean replied, “I find it hard to believe but then again-”

“Wouldn’t be the first dragon we’ve faced.”

“There’s something else,” Dean said, leaning against the kitchen island. Sam looked up to make eye contact as his older brother went on. “Before you came back, when she was still tied up, I asked her why she wasn’t begging for her life. And…” He let his sentence drift.

“What?”

“She said, 'it wouldn’t change your mind. Only you can do that.’ She was ready to die if she couldn’t go home. Anyone we’ve ever crossed who does magic wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

“You’re inclined to believe her,” Sam grinned.

“At this point, I’m seeing it as a case.”

Sam couldn’t have been more releaved. He was worried Dean wouldn’t be on board to help you. Over the last several weeks, he’d grown quite fond of you. And he couldn’t imagine sending you back home to most likely face death. Especially where him and Dean could help. “Well, we do still have that broken sword that Dr. Visyak gave you a few years back. It should be in a bottom compartment in the Impala’s trunk.”

Dean studied his younger brother for a moment. “Answer me honestly.”

“Okay.”

“You’d be upset if she left and never came back, wouldn’t you.”

Sam’s felt his heart stutter in his chest. He guessed the look on his face gave Dean his answer.

“Thought so.”

Sam wasn’t even going to deny it now. He  _did_  like you. In more ways than one. But that was an issue for another time. Dean winked at him and walked towards the garage as Sam rolled his eyes again.

Walking back into the war room, where you were now sitting down, Sam pulled up a chair next to you.

“So,” he began, “how exactly would we get to your island?”

“Teleportation,” you responded, as if it was no big deal.

“Can you…teleport all three of us there?”

You chuckled slightly. “Sam, as long as everyone and everything needed walks through the portal I’ll open up before it closes, it will make it safely through. Nothing like in Harry Potter where splinching is a risk.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve read Harry Potter.”

“Own it, read it, listened to it; mostly to see if anything from my isle ended up in Ms. Rowling’s writings.”

You and Sam shared a quiet laugh. Then Sam’s expression got serious.

“Has it?”

“Not that I could tell,” you winked at him.

Another laughed passed between you two as Dean entered the war room, carrying a duffle bag.

“We good?” Sam asked.

“Car’s ready to go whenever you two love birds are.”

You were too busy contemplating what he meant by that to be embarrassed. Sam, on the other hand, was now a few shades redder than he was before.

“Wait,” you breathed, “you mean-”

“However we can help,” Dean interrupted, “you got it.”

Without thinking, you got up and threw your arms around Dean. Your breath caught in your throat when he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head briefly.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his chest.

“Just don’t get us killed,” he replied in, Sam’s opinion, true Dean fashion. It caused you to let out a small chuckle.

Sam wrapped his arms around you from behind once Dean let go. That startled you a bit. You could once again feel his warmth, the steady thrum of his heart against your back, his breath tickling the side of your neck as he nuzzled against your shoulder.

“We’re here for you,” Sam whispered, sending a shiver down your spine.

You looked back up at him and just smiled.

“Dean,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“If I were you, I’d unpack the car.”

He gave you a confused look. “Why?”

“Well, unless your car has the ability to swim across the Atlantic…”

Feeling a bit sheepish, he spoke up. “I figured we were gonna head towards an airport. As much as I hate flying.”

“No need.”

“Then how will we get there?”

You just smiled as you turn away from them, swung your arms out wide, waved them even wider, and trickles of light and vapor misted around the three of you. They collaborated and merged into a doorway shaped frame. Then, with a flash of green shimmery light, the door way shape sucked the air inward, looking like a vacuum vortex black hole.

The Winchesters stood there in awe for a moment before you gestured for them to enter. You snapped your fingers and your trusty emerald green heavy travel cloak intertwined itself around your body. Sam silently admitted it looked good on you.

“After you, gentlemen,” you said, the smile not leaving your face.

But instead of stepping in one at a time, both men grabbed your hands and walked you into the vortex, leaving the bunker behind.

* * *

The sight that greeted you and the Winchesters when the portal closed behind you was devastating. The entire village burned. All the homes and short buildings that had been erected centuries before lay wasted in their own charred footprint. And there wasn’t a soul around. You imagined if you did come home to disaster, you’d at least expect people to be screaming and running in terror. But there was no one.

Your heart dropped to your knees.

“They-they’re all gone,” you voice was barely above a whisper, tears already pouring forth from your eyes.

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t help yourself; you threw yourself into his embrace, crying softly against his plaid flannel. Dean started walking around to see if anyone had survived.

“HELLO?!” He called out, but no one answered. He walked further into the carnage, repeating the same shout, only to get the same response. Silence.

“Oh Gods!” You cried out. Letting go of Sam, you ran off towards a place in the village that only you knew about. Sam and Dean were quick to follow, not wanting to let you out of your sight. Your actions were grief-laden; they feared you’d get hurt. Reaching a far end hut, you sank to your knees and sobbed.

Your childhood home, where your parents had raised you and your five brothers, was nothing but rubble now. Sam knelt down beside you, placing his hand back on your shoulder, but kept his eyes on his brother. Dean approached the wreckage.

“Be careful,” Sam called out. Dean just looked back and nodded curtly.

Dean began pulling some larger pieces of debris and tossing them out of the way. It wasn’t until he pulled out what could’ve been a chunk of the roof that he discovered a limp hand. For nothing else but confirmation, he checked the wrist attached to the hand for a pulse.

He looked back at Sam, who once again had your sobbing form in his arms, and gave him a sad expression.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Sam said against your hair. You shot up to see Dean holding your mother’s cold dead hand in his. You wanted to cry more. You wanted to take time to mourn your losses. But the fire that had taken your home and your village now burned inside your belly. Burned for revenge. Hard as steel, your nerves solidified to find Peist and put him down for good. Your village couldn’t be saved. But your home country, your beloved United Kingdom of Great Britain, could be.

A deafening roar sounded throughout the land. The three of you stood up to face the direction of the sound.

Dean wasted no time pulling out the broken sword. But before he went charging off, you held him back. He looked down at you.

“We need to find him first. Peist isn’t hard to find if you’re a Druid. We raised him from an egg. I can use a locating spell to do just that. But once we do find him, I’ll have to subdue him with magic. Once he senses me…if he wasn’t hostile before, he’ll be even more dangerous.”

“We’ll deal with the actual killing. You just keep him from doing anymore damage.”

“Are you sure about this?” Sam asked.

You looked up at Sam before turning back towards the beast himself. “Peist destroyed my home. He has to go.”

With conviction, the three of you made your way towards Peist for his final departure from this world.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find him. He kept roaring loudly. But you activated your locating spell just to be sure. You honed in on the sound of his voice, and the direction of the smoke that emanated from his nostrils at all times. Once the three of you had eyes on Peist, you held up your hands and uttered the familiar dialect in your home language. More like shouted, actually. Long, wavy energy tentacles shot out from your arms and roped around Peist’s long neck, securing him in place. You were proud of yourself for the amount of training you’d had as a Druid; your hold on him was pretty strong. But you knew that if Sam and Dean didn’t put him down soon, the spell would drain all the magical reserves you had left. It could be life threatening. But you were certain your family and friends put up a good fight against Peist until the very end. You weren’t going down without a fight.

Sam was armed with his trusty pistol even though it wouldn’t do anything but annoy Peist. Which was actually a good strategy; if Sam could distract Peist long enough, Dean could run up and dig the sword into Peist’s belly. Which would put him down for good.

After several minutes of firefighting, your vision was starting to show spots, which was followed by dizziness and the overwhelming urge to lay down and take a nap. The strength of your spell was starting wane, and the brothers took notice when your aim shifted slightly. Something that almost had Sam flame-broiled to a crisp.

“Keep it up!” Sam shouted. “Just a little bit longer, Y/N. Hang in there!”

You couldn’t respond; you had to focus. But he was right. Dean was climbing his way through the rubble of the collapsed buildings to get enough leverage. Sam reloaded his gun with another magazine and continued firing round after round. It was working!

Just when you thought you were about to lose consciousness and get all three of you killed, another deafening roar erupted from Peist.

He struggled and withered before falling to the ground. His fall and inevitable crash to earth made all the remaining burned structures that hadn’t collapsed yet fall with him. Literally nothing, and no one, was left from your hometown.

Dean fell too, but not nearly as bad as Peist did. Sam ran towards his brother and helped him up just as you were releasing your hold on the trap spell. You wavered in place just as the brothers were running towards you, ready to catch you if you did collapse. But you didn’t; though your vision was swimming slightly.

“We did it,” Dean smiled, his breath heaving in and out of his lungs.

“No,” you said, exhausted and out of breath yourself, “you did it.”

“Uh-uh,” Sam gritted, “without your powers, we would’ve never even made it here in the first place. You, Y/N, played a big part in this. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“I’m not,” you replied, “but…oh it doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing left for me here. Hell, there’s not even a corpse left uncharred to properly bury. At some point, I’m sure by now the Queen has been advised of all this. Someone will come to clean it up. And then… the ancient Isle of Cumhacht will be wiped from existance. Literally…”

Sam was about to ask what you meant, but you wavered again, falling into Dean’s side. The brothers righted you back up.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“After you, my lady,” Sam said.

“Stand back,” you commanded, “I used up most of my power holding Peist off.  I’m not at full strength and it could backfire. There’s a small chance we could be stuck here until I recover.”

“Hey, the big problem has been solved. Everything else we can deal with on our own time,” Dean replied.

With that, you knew you had your answer. You waved your arms in the same manner you did back in America. In no time at all, the portal opened up, leading the way back to the Men of Letters bunker. But it was the last thing you saw before slipping into a comatose state. Following Dean, Sam left the Isle of Cumhacht for the final time with your unconscious form in his arms.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set months after the Isle of Cumhacht’s demise, Y/N is the last of her kind. And, as Sam expects, she’s not taking it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEVERE ANGST, FLUFF, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE, HOSPITALS, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, MENTIONS OF PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITALS, LANGUAGE
> 
> A/N: One last thank you to everyone who’s given this series love. I’m glad I was able to finish it as I didn’t think I would. I have many more WIPs that I cannot wait to showcase. Enjoy! But heed the warnings; it gets kinda dark.

It’s been six months since the Winchester brothers brought your knocked out form back to Kansas byway of portal. And those six months had been the worst in your life.

Worse than when you broke all four limbs trying to practice levitation magic on your own for the first time.

Worse than when Gran, your Clan Mentor, died.

Worse than when you got a rejection letter from Cambridge University.

You lost everything you’d ever held dear.

Your family was dead. And they’d been given no Final Rites as your Clan’s tradition demanded.

Your entire hometown was decimated by Peist. No one would ever come to mourn the loss as no one outside of those from Her Majesty’s Court knew it existed.

You were, in a way, officially the last living Druid on Earth.

And all you wanted to do was join your mother, father, and brothers in the Afterlife.

—

If it wasn’t for Sam and Dean, you would’ve died from either starvation or dehydration a month after coming back. The first few nights back in the States, you didn’t come out of your room except to piss. And even then it was once a day; sometimes once every other day if you didn’t drink anything. They started by bringing you food they’d made for themselves. But when you’d accept it and they’d leave you be, it stayed cold and moldy. So they started forcing you to join them for a meal. Not only did it guarantee you got some nutrition, but that you stayed somewhat active. There wasn’t any malicious intent behind their actions; they were just worried about you. Especially Sam. He was growing more scared by the day that he’d come into your room and find you dead. Or worse, gone.

“Rational thinking, Sammy,” Dean said one day in the kitchen, “Y/N has nowhere else to go. If she left the bunker, she’d essentially be an illegal immigrant. I’m sure the passport she lost in Delaware is long gone by now. And even if she wasn’t, there’s still a slim chance those werewolves in Delaware would pick up her scent. I’m telling you…she’s safest here and she knows it.”

“Do you plan to stop her if she decides to leave?” Sam asked.

Dean was about to answer, but the sound of water running in the hallway bathroom got his attention. Sam’s too.

“Guess she finally decided to get cleaned up on her own,” Dean mused. But Sam wasn’t buying. His instincts were honing in on something else. Something he couldn’t really explain. After about 15 minutes of the brothers hanging out in the kitchen, Sam noticed something.

“Dude, the water’s still running.”

Dean put his beer down and listened; indeed the water from the bathtub was still running.

Neither brother said anything. They both put down their respective drinks and silently made their way towards the bathroom.

But it wasn’t until they saw water mixed with blood flooding the hallway that sprung them into action.

Dean kicked the door open. Sam wasn’t prepared for the sight of your body hovering just above the surface of the water. Your left arm was dangling out of the tub, slashed from wrist to elbow, opening both your radial and brachial arteries wide open. Dean was the first one to you as he slipped two fingers across the side of your neck. Sam just stood there, shell-shocked. He kept telling his body to move. To grab some towels to stop the slow bleeding that pulsed slightly. But he couldn’t do a damn thing.

“She’s alive!” Dean called out, but Sam didn’t register his brother’s voice until he called to him with his childhood moniker. “Sammy!”

Sam wasted no time running to get towels as Dean carted your semi-lifeless, fully clothed form out of the water. Dean looked around and found a box cutter between the tub and toilet. He cursed himself internally; he remembered leaving it in your room for some reason that escaped him now.

Dean carried you towards the bunker’s infirmary as Sam covered your open wounds as best he can. Each brother works diligently to sew you up but they know it isn’t enough. You’ve lost too much blood for you to just sleep it off. So the brothers gathered you up and took you to the hospital.

—

The week you spent hospitalized were agonizing for both Sam and Dean. You had moments of lucidity, and moments where you didn’t know who Sam or Dean were. Upon being brought back to full health and discharged, the boys managed to convinced the doctors that you didn’t need to be institutionalized to ‘evaluate and treat any underlining depressive disorders’. But it probably helped that you placed a small spell on the doctor to make the convincing easier.

Two weeks after coming back to the bunker, you’d had it.

You couldn’t stay with the Winchesters knowing you had no purpose there. You were nothing but a hindrance, you told yourself. They weren’t responsible for fixing you or your personal problems. Your plan was to sneak out quietly while they were either on a hunt or asleep, but that plan blew up in your face as you exploded one day during breakfast.

You raced out of the kitchen in a fit of tears, the brothers hot on your heels.

“Y/N, wait!” Dean called out.

“Y/N!” Sam called behind Dean.

“Leave me alone,” you cried. You tried to slam the door behind you, but Dean was too fast. He held the door firm until you had no choice but to let them in. It didn’t stop you from grabbing a suitcase, frantically stuffing it with whatever you could claim as your own for the road.

“Y/N, talk to us,” Sam said calmly, approaching you slowly. “Tell us what’s going on. You can trust us.”

You huffed an annoyed breath, but relented. You  _could_  talk to them about anything. In the absence of your Druid lineage, they were your family. Now more than ever. You sank down on the bed and sobbed. Each Winchester sat down on either side of you.

“I can’t keep doing this to you. I’m nothing but a bother here. I’m not a hunter, nor do I have any desire to become one. I have nothing left in this life. I have no family. No home. I am the last of my kind. Once I die, no druid will ever walk the Earth again. I tried to kill myself for a reason: I didn’t want to be alone! You guys can’t keep cleaning up all my problems. I should’ve never accepted your invitation to stay here. I’ll only weigh you down. You’ve got your own problems to deal with. You don’t need an ugly mess like me around.”

You continued to sob in silence. Neither brother spoke. They didn’t have to.

Sam wrapped his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug. You gasped slightly as the pressure of his body pressed into yours. And suddenly…you felt okay. Like Sam just radiated calming energy naturally. In a way, he kind of did. He did  from the very first moment you’d met him. Something already drew you to Sam and now you were wondering where you fit into this man’s life.

“Y/N,” he said close to your ear, “you  _do_  belong here. You belong with us. You belong…you belong with me.”

Dean chose this moment to get up and leave the two of you alone. He knew what his little brother needed to do and he knew he’d only get in the way.

“Y/N…I want you here. I  _need_  you here. You’re right…there’s a lot of shit going on in our lives and we can’t even comprehend how to think about fixing the problems. But with you…” he let out a long breath, gathering his thoughts. “I died a little inside when Dean and I found you that day. It broke me so badly. You have no idea. Even though I know from personal experience it’s pointless, I prayed. I prayed harder than I ever have in my entire life. I prayed you would be okay. I prayed you would survive. I prayed for your  because I didn’t want to lose yet another woman I love!”

You leaned back, away from his touch, to look at him. “You…love me?”

Sam nodded. “Without sounding too cliche, I do love you. I have for a while. I want you to stay here with me. Forever…no matter what else happens…I will always protect you. I will always love you.”

—

_I never realized just how much Sam’s words resonated with me that day. It took me a few days to realize he wasn’t complete full of it. He really did love me. We eventually agreed to just take things slow; one day at a time. But those days eventually turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And one year to the day he confessed his love for me, we were married. I became Mrs. Y/N Winchester. While exchanging our vows, I had a brief moment where I wondered where our marriage would take us. Now, looking at my husband chasing our four sons around in the front of the bunker’s courtyard, I don’t have to wonder. Sam ended up being the key to my happiness._ Our _happiness. Which I think is a good thing. Considering two of our sons have already started showing signs that they can do magic. Just like me._

**F I N**


End file.
